Page 92 of Just for the Plot

I shake my head. “No, you got married and traded me in for a more muscular, grumpy version.”

“I love him, but he never could replace you.”

“Keep saying that to me. I need the reassurance.”

She chuckles and then leads us down the stairs to our seats. Bennett must have pulled some strings, or he straight-up paid for it, but he got us great seats, ten rows back from the first base on-deck circle. Ryland and Gabby were, of course, frothing at the tickets, while I just admired their appreciation for good seats.

After we’ve sat down, we fit our drinks into the cupholders. I grab my hot dog and hand my phone to Gabby. “Can you take a picture of me with my hot dog?”

“Sure.” She chuckles. “Do you want the field in it, or just you and your hot dog?”

“With the field.” I roll my eyes. “I want to do a front and a back picture to send to Bennett so he can see the shirt I got to wear.”

While I was out making the rounds for Adalade today, I had Mark drop me off at a sporting goods store, where I bought a shirt with Brinkman and his number, twenty-two, on the back. It’s a bit tight, because it’s a kid’s size, but it was either that or a size way too big for me.

“You’re going to send it to Bennett?” Gabby questions.

“Uh, yeah, so he can see that his neighbor supports him.”

I hold up the hot dog and she snaps a picture before I turn around, my hair to one side, and she takes another picture.

When I grab my phone from her, I motion for her and Ryland to get together. They’re both in their Bombers gear, twinning and looking so adorable.

“Smile.” I take the picture and then open up my text thread with Bennett. I include all the pics and tell him we plan on being the loudest.

Once I’m good with that, I put my phone to the side and take a huge bite of my hot dog, staring out at the well-manicured field.

“Wow, that grass is so—” I pause when I turn and see Gabby and Ryland both staring at me. “What?” I wipe at my mouth. “Do I have ketchup on my face?”

“What’s going on?” Gabby asks.

“What do you mean?”

“You just sent Bennett a picture of you.”

“Uh, yeah, because I’m wearing this shirt and I’m at his game.”

“That’s…very girlfriend-like of you,” Ryland says, picking up his beer and sipping from it.

I scoff, because he has completely lost his mind.

“Girlfriend of me?” I ask. “Uh, no, it’s not. First, I’m seeing someone sort of—kind of—second, I’m just being a friend, and there’s nothing girlfriend about me and Bennett.”

“Are you sure?” Gabby asks. “Because that would be…well, it wouldn’t be right.”

“Of course it wouldn’t be right. He’s eight years younger than me, your brother, and not my type.” Ehh, maybe a little my type. The dark hair, light blue eyes, and thick scruff… God, so hot…

I mean, not him, just that aesthetic of a man.

Bennett is… Sure, he’s attractive and the muscles don’t hurt, but like I said, not my type.

Did you believe that? Because I didn’t.

“Well, all of that,” Gabby says. “And the fact that you’ve been in his life for so long helping me take care of him. You made me that promise one night when we were working at the Olive Garden, and I wasn’t sure I was going to make ends meet.”

As if I could forget the promise. I remember that night. I found her sobbing in the back of the stockroom and when I asked her what was going on, she was at her wit’s end, unable to make rent and didn’t know what to do because her sketchy boyfriend at the time took money from her.

“I promised that no matter what, I’d take care of Bennett.”